


The Drunken Bet Affair

by LadyRa



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-06
Updated: 2005-02-06
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:38:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRa/pseuds/LadyRa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya gets very drunk and makes a bet</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drunken Bet Affair

**Author's Note:**

> This story assumes a VERY tolerant U.N.C.L.E. organization, so bear that in mind, please.

"What do you mean he's gone?"

The nurse on duty shrank from Napoleon's tone of voice. "Just what I said. I turned around and he was gone."

"He was sedated. How could he leave?" Napoleon knew he was being overbearing. Part of it was guilt. After all, he was the one who'd gone off and left Illya alone.

Dr. Franklin was suddenly there, dismissing the nurse and glaring right back at Napoleon. "He always leaves against medical advice. Always. You both do. Why are you even surprised?"

Napoleon kept to his argument. "I saw you give him something. He was sedated. Or he was before I left. What the hell did you give him? Children's aspirin?"

Napoleon watched the doctor clench his jaw. Neither he nor Illya were on the best of terms with the medical staff. The nurses, however, were a different story. Napoleon would have to send some flowers down to apologize for his behavior.

"He was given our latest pain relieving medication. It has less sedative properties than most pain medications, but it is just as effective." The doctor frowned. "Unless you drink, of course."

Napoleon's eyebrows rose. "Unless you drink?" His eyes narrowed. "What happens if you drink?" If he knew his partner, he'd have hightailed it for a bottle of vodka.

Dr. Franklin grimaced. "It works like a catalyst. Someone who drank while they were on this drug would get rip snorting drunk with a very small amount of alcohol."

"Did you tell him this before he was able to sneak out?" Illya didn't know the meaning of the words 'very small amount of alcohol'.

The doctor glowered at Napoleon. "When I left him, you were with him. He'd just been stitched back together, he'd just gotten his pain medication, and it wasn't the time to give him his discharge instructions. It would have gone in one ear and out the other. How did I know you were going to leave? Did you tell anyone you were going?"

"I didn't know I needed permission to walk the halls of U.N.C.L.E."

"Napoleon. You always stay with Illya when he's hurt. Always. The staff expects, we expect it, Waverly expects it, I imagine Illya expects it too. We expect you to come get us when he's awake and complaining about going home. And then we expect you to take him, in fact, we release him, against our advice, into your care, with all his discharge instructions, and vice versa. That's the way it's been for a year."

Napoleon knew that was true. He did always stay. But tonight the medicine seemed to be working, and Illya willing to sleep, and Napoleon didn't think it would hurt to leave for an hour. It was the first time he'd seen that new stenographer by herself and he'd hated to let the opportunity pass him by. How was he supposed to know the sneaky Russian would wake up and help himself to the door?

He let out a sigh. "Do you know where he went?"

Dr. Franklin shook his head. "He's not answering his phone at home." He walked across the room and picked up Illya's jacket. "His communicator's here." He looked down at the chair and winced. "So's his gun."

Napoleon ran a frustrated hand through his hair, thinking that his partner had to have been partially sedated, or in a lot of pain, to do something as stupid as leave without his hardware. "So, my partner is roaming around the city, without his communicator, without his gun, with a drug on board that's going to interact with alcohol and knock him on his ass? Is that the situation?"

The doctor nodded. "And he's wounded."

"Right. Of course. Because things weren't bad enough." Napoleon closed his eyes, making a mental list of all the places Illya might have gone. They all included alcohol. And that left him an easy target for anyone who happened to see him. He was beginning to wish that stenographer had gone to work for Thrush. "Call communications, and have them put an APB out on Illya. He'll kill me but there're too many places he could be."

The doctor nodded, already reaching for the phone. Then he stopped. "What are you going to do?" He smirked at Napoleon. "Got a date? Have to run?"

Napoleon counted to ten. He supposed he deserved that. "I'm going out to look for him, and then I'm taking him home and I'm handcuffing him to the bed."

Dr. Franklin snorted out a half laugh. "I didn't know you were into bondage, Napoleon." He pursed his lips, considering. "If you take pictures, you could probably make a fortune."

That thought stopped Napoleon. Naked pictures of Illya in handcuffs probably could make him a fortune. He derailed that train of thought in a hurry. He'd made a pact with himself just a few days after their first mission. His partnership with Illya was too important to screw up with his libido. And contrary to public opinion, he could control himself. 

Realizing he was wasting time, he headed for the door.

* * *

Illya was drunk, drunker than he'd been in a long time, maybe drunker than he'd ever been. He knew it was partly due to a combination of the bullet wound, the pain medication he'd been given in Medical, and the letdown after a hair-raising mission, but he was drunker than he should be. Not that knowing any of that made him less drunk. He wasn't sure he could get himself home. He lifted bleary eyes and tried to focus on his environment. He wasn't really even sure where he was.

Someone sat down across from him. She looked vaguely familiar. He tried to hold his head steady on his neck. "Where'm I?"

She laughed at him.

He tried to give her a disgruntled look but his face didn't seem to be working right. He gave up. "No, I mean it. Where'm I?"

"Jesus, Kuryakin, you're plastered."

He nodded, his head flopping to his chest and back. "I know." He concentrated hard on the person sitting across from him. His brows lifted when he made the connection. "Ah, Melody." She was a Section Three agent. He remembered being introduced to her when he'd first arrived at U.N.C.L.E. and been taken around to meet the other agents. He tried her name again. "Medoly."

She snorted. "I heard you got shot."

He nodded again, almost losing his balance on the chair. "I did." He poked his leg to demonstrate, and unfortunately hit the exact spot where the bullet had taken out a chunk of flesh. "Ow." Everything went black for a second.

She watched him carefully, her hands out, ready to catch him if he fell. 

He shook his head, hoping that would make the surge of pain lessen. All it did was make him dizzy. He put both hands on the table to keep his balance. Illya glanced at his companion, confused again as to who she was. 

She helped. "Melody."

"Hmm. Right. Medoly." The music took on a life of its own for a minute and he remembered his locale. A pleased and drunken smile took over his face. He gave Melody a knowing look, waving an unsteady finger at her, ready to show her the errors of her ways. "You can't fool me. I'mmat Smoky Joe's." 

She laughed again. "You're a damn genius. Glad to see you're not letting that Ph.D. go to waste."

Now that Illya knew where he was, he sat back, and tried to focus on the music. It took him a minute to realize that it was coming from the jukebox. He gave Melody an accusing look. "Whereza band?"

"On break."

Illya let that thought weave its way through his inebriated brain cells. "Oh." He lifted his wrist, which felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and tried to see what time it was. He finally gave up and thrust his wrist at Melody. "What time izzit?" 

"Time for you to be in bed. Where's that partner of yours?"

Illya frowned. He didn't want to think about his partner. Thinking about his partner and whatever obliging female he happened to be with for the evening made his head hurt. And his heart. It was another reason he was so drunk. "I dunno her name."

She pursed her lips.

Illya reached up to his own lips, tried to push them into an approximation of what she was doing with hers. He was spectacularly unsuccessful.

Melody let out another snort. "It seems like he should be keeping an eye on you. I understand you took that bullet for him."

Illya used both hands to pick up his glass, and stared into its empty depths disconsolately. "Don't wanna talk about it." Illya licked the edges of the glass. He looked around, hoping someone would deliver him a new drink. Ordering one felt too complicated.

She shook her head. "I think you've had enough." Melody waved her hand, got the attention of a waitress and ordered some coffee.

Illya frowned at the waitress's departing back. Then he frowned at Melody. "Don't wanna drink coffee."

She leaned forward, suddenly quite serious. "Listen, you're drunk as a skunk and a sitting target. Napoleon had no business leaving you on your own tonight."

He thought about that. It was hard to argue with any of it. Especially the part about Napoleon. Napoleon had dropped him off in Medical, staying by his side just long enough for something in a short skirt to pass by and lure him away. He made a rude noise with his lips. He found the sound amusing so he did it again.

She started to laugh. "Jesus, I wish I had a camera with me. I could make a fortune selling pictures of how you look right now. Or I could make a fortune blackmailing you."

Illya furrowed his eyebrows in an approximation of a threat. "I would hafta shoot you." The slurred words ruined the effect.

"Uh huh. You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn right now, ace."

Illya gave her a wounded look. He was reasonably certain he could hit a barn.

The coffee arrived. She glanced at him. "How do you take it?"

His eyes closed for a moment, lost in thought, and then he struggled to open them, raising his eyebrows to assist the process until they snapped open. "With vodka."

She barked out a laugh. "It's like that Thurber story. The one where the meek and harmless office worker suddenly shows up one night at the horrid supervisor's office and harasses her. And the next day, she goes to work and complains about him, but no one believes her and she gets carted off to the insane asylum. Sitting in the Catbird Seat, or something like that." 

She waved a hand. "Anyway, this is such juicy gossip. You sitting here, royally pissed, clueless, helpless, but if I tell anyone, they'd never believe me. They'd think I got drunk and started seeing things." She sat back with a sigh.

Illya let out a long breath and blinked at her. "What?"

"Forget it." She pushed the coffee cup closer to him. "Drink."

He frowned at the cup but he picked it up very slowly, taking enormous efforts not to spill the hot liquid on him, and brought it to his lips and took a sip.

She watched him as he sipped. "I'll make a bet with you."

Cup to his lips, he lifted his eyes to her. "What?"

"I'll make a bet with you."

"A bet?" He took a sip.

She nodded. "I'll bet you I can get Napoleon in bed faster than you can."

His sip of coffee sprayed across the table. His hands noticeably shaking, he put the cup back down on the table. He was suddenly feeling more sober. "Why would you want to make a bet like that?"

Melody wiped off the coffee that had landed on her arm with a cocktail napkin. "Cuz I think it would be fun."

"Maybe for you. You'd win." Illya really, really wanted another drink.

"Why do you say that?"

"You're a woman." Illya couldn't believe he was having this conversation. Maybe this was all just some odd dream he was having. Maybe he was still in Medical and the medicine was making him hallucinate.

She snorted. "Napoleon swings both ways."

Illya's eyebrows almost rose off his head. "What?"

She laughed. "Well, that's an understatement. He swings every way. You put a naked body in the middle of the Sahara desert and his nose would lead him right to her, him, whatever, like a camel to an oasis."

Illya was feeling drunk again. "What?" He risked another sip of coffee.

"Napoleon. He sleeps with anything. Anyone. He's a total slut. Granted, he's a discreet and adorable and charming slut, but a slut nonetheless."

Illya almost spit out his next sip of coffee. He glared at her. "Could you not talk when I'm drinking?" He attempted to land the cup back on the table, a good deal of it sloshing over the rim in the process. 

She rescued it and grinned at him. "Sorry." There was a pause while she wiped up the newly spilled coffee. "So, do we have a bet?"

Illya had to think for a minute about what she was talking about; his brain had slipped into hibernation. Then he remembered. His partner, the slut. "No."

"Why not?"

He shook his head. Then a thought occurred. "If he sleeps with anything, why hazzn't he slept with you?"

"Thank you. That was a charming way of phrasing that question."

He scrunched his face up, running his sentence through his inebriated gray matter several times. Finally he had to admit that it was possible that it might have been insulting. "Sorry." It was too much work to tell her he didn't mean it. 

She was actually quite attractive. In fact, he thought, as he gave her a better look, she was very attractive. Tall, willowy, blond, eyes. He squinted at her eyes. He couldn't tell what color they were in the semi-darkness of the club. But she definitely had eyes.

Something suddenly didn't make sense. "Why hazzn't he slept with you?"

"Oh, he's tried."

This was feeling too much like work, as if he were figuring out a case, struggling to put clues together. It made him tired. "You just wanna win. You just think I'm stupid when I'm drunk. This is like--" He thought for a minute. "It's like when you play pool."

She stared at him, trying to keep from laughing. "What's like pool?" 

"You know. 'Poleon told me. He has me do it."

"Do what? What does he have you do?" She muttered under her breath, "Oh, for a tape recorder."

He grew exasperated. "You know. When you act like you can't play and then you can and you win all the money."

"You can play pool?"

Illya nodded emphatically. Then he leaned forward and crooked his finger at her, inviting her participation. "But don't tell anyone. Otherwise it won't work."

She started to giggle. "You are a piece of work, Kuryakin."

He thought about that and then he frowned. "Izzat a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Do you care?"

He did care. He always cared. He wanted people to like him as much as anyone did. He just didn't know how to do it anymore. He'd lost too many people, and been surrounded for too much of his life by people who hated him, because he was too small, or too smart, or too poor, or too pretty, or too Russian. It was just easier to keep people away. It usually worked too. But it hadn't with Napoleon. 

He lifted his blue eyes to her, not realizing how much, in his drunken state, he gave away. 

Her eyes widened at what she saw.

Then he decided to get affronted on Napoleon's behalf. "Why dinnit you sleep with him? What's wrong with him?" He, personally, didn't think anything was wrong with Napoleon. He was perfect. Except that he was, possibly, to use Melody's term for it, a slut.

"Nothing. He's a total babe. It's just that I'm a lesbian."

Illya dropped his head to the table. "I have to go home now."

She patted his hand. "It'll be all right."

Without lifting his head he shook it. The movement rattled his coffee cup and he raised his head in alarm. He relaxed when he saw that she had rescued it again. He gave her a smile and missed her indrawn breath.

Then a cloud of depression blew over him as her statements about his partner's wide-ranging sexuality sank in. "He hazzn't slept with me." He hated that his voice sounded sulky, but he couldn't help it. He also couldn't believe he was still having this conversation. For all he knew she could be a mole for Thrush, taping every word he was saying. But he couldn't seem to shut up. "Why hazzn't he slept with me? What's wrong with--" He hiccupped. "--me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you. You're a total babe too. Gorgeous."

He let that rattle around in his head and he grinned at her, a lopsided smile, his hand making its staggering way to his chest to land there with a solid whack. "You think I'm a babe?" He let out a soft chuff of amusement. "I never--I've never been a babe before."

"Prime choice babe, Kuryakin. If I wasn't a lesbian, I'd snap you up in a heartbeat."

He picked up his coffee cup and as he brought it to his lips, his eyes went cross-eyed following its approach. He closed his eyes and put the cup back down. He took a long time running his hand over his face. Then he opened his eyes and frowned. "Snap me up?" He wasn't sure he knew what that meant. "Izzat a good thing?"

She took pity on him and just nodded, forgoing an explanation. "Yes. It's a good thing."

"Spasiba."

"Pazhalsta."

His eyes lit up. "Vy gavarite pa-ruski?"

She shook her head, ruefully. "If you just asked me if I speak Russian, the answer is no. Except for the basics. You know, hello, goodbye, thanks, you're welcome. That kind of stuff."

He sat back, disappointed. Somehow crushingly disappointed. It would be so nice to speak Russian to someone every now and then. Someone in U.N.C.L.E. Someone who knew what he did for a living so he didn't have to hide so much.

It was all there on his face, like a billboard. She couldn't help but respond. "I could learn. You could teach me."

That was an intriguing possibility. "You want to learn this?"

"Sure. Seems like Russian is a good language to know in the spy business. And I could practice on you." She made a come hither gesture with her fingers. "Come on, teach me something."

"Here is very useful phrase if you are in Russia . Atebis'."

She repeated it. "What does it mean?"

He thought for a minute. "It means--how do you say it--fuck off."

Melody burst out laughing. Then she repeated the word again. "You're right, it's a very useful word. Now teach me something that isn't obscene."

"Ya lezbianka."

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

He nodded.

"Somehow I don't think that announcing that I'm a lesbian will get me very far. Teach me something that won't get me shot if I'm in Russia ."

"Ya ne vinavaty."

She repeated it. "Ya ne vinavaty. What's that mean?"

"I'm innocent."

She laughed again.

He snickered. "That won't keep you from getting shot in Russia either." A waitress caught his eye and he raised his hand. Ignoring the disapproving look in Melody's eyes, he ordered another vodka. His leg was starting to hurt again. Badly. 

"Sure you don't want me to just take you home?"

He stubbornly shook his head. He didn't want to be alone. When he was alone he thought of Napoleon, and that brought him back to his question. "What's wrong with me?"

Melody was right in step with him. She hadn't had anything to drink. "You matter too much to him. I mean, just watch him. Sure he sleeps around, sure anything in a short skirt around U.N.C.L.E. turns his head, sure he plays it footloose and fancy free--"

Illya covered his face with his hands, interrupting her. "I don't want to hear this."

She took his hands from his face. "Then you should do this." She replaced them over his ears. Melody took in his unhappy expression. "Are you strictly a homosexual or are you bi?"

His eyes grew wide in alarm.

She touched his arm reassuringly. "You're not in Russia anymore, Illya. No one's going to shoot you here. And no one at U.N.C.L.E.'s going to care once they get over the initial surprise."

His eyes narrowed.

She hurried to reassure him. "Not that I'm going to tell them. But, you can't work at U.N.C.L.E. unless you have a tolerance streak a mile wide. We're all asked to play too many roles, including wooing same sex targets, for anyone closed-minded to survive. Trust me, most agents are pretty easygoing about sex."

He didn't answer, his eyes still suspicious. 

Melody tried again. "Hey, I told you about me, right? And I don't just tell anyone that. And I swear that Napoleon is bisexual. I mean, he doesn't advertise it, but when you're family, word travels."

"If no one would care, why don'tchu tell everyone about you?" Illya was proud he'd managed to find a hole in her argument. The state he was in, he hadn't expected such an achievement. 

"I get a perverse kick out of turning men down when they ask me out." She flashed him a wide grin.

Illya thought about that for a minute and then he snorted out a laugh. He laughed for a while, finally letting out a noisy breath, and leaning back in his chair. Then he remembered something she had said. "What family?"

"Illya, how can you have lived here for a year and not understand that phrase? You know, family. Homosexuals, lesbians. We need to stick together. Family."

His lips formed a silent oh. "I don't know this family."

Melody gave him a look of disbelief, drawing an unbelievable conclusion. "Are you trying to tell me that you haven't slept with anyone since you've been here?"

Illya shook his head.

"No one?"

He shook his head again. "I did not know where it was safe to go. I did not know how to find out." He touched his chest. "I am Russian. People are--they do not trust me." His drink arrived and Illya gratefully slugged it down. For a moment he felt like smashing it into a fireplace, as part of a toast, in a defiantly Russian gesture. If there had been a fireplace close by, he might have done it. He felt the glow of the liquor take the edge off the pain and he let out a happy sigh. Then he thought about their conversation and he frowned. "Why do you wanna know?"

"Are you in love with him?"

It was all in his eyes, just for a second. The unrequited love, the loneliness, the pain when he watched Napoleon going off with someone else over and over again. He needed another drink. Raising his empty glass high, he caught the eye of the waitress. When it arrived, he slugged that one down too. It was making his leg feel better, but it was increasing the melancholy in his heart. "It duzzn't matter. He duzzn't want me."

"I think he does. I think he loves you, too. I think all his sleeping around is because deep down inside he's miserably lonely, and if he stops moving for a minute he'll have to deal with it." 

Illya blinked at Melody, her words ricocheting in his head. He was very drunk again.

Melody looked around, and then leaned forward, in great sincerity. "I mean it. I've been watching you guys for a long time, and you're a romance just waiting to happen. All you need is a nudge in the right direction."

Illya struggled to get back in the conversation. "Whadayu talking about? Who needza nudge? Me?" His hand landed on his chest again.

"Yes, you and Napoleon. Both of you. Mostly him, though." She wiggled her eyebrows. "I have a new bet for you. A new and improved one."

He was too drunk to get up, so he sat there and listened.

"I'll bet you that I can get Napoleon to take you to bed and tell you he's in love with you within two weeks."

Even as drunk as he was, Illya knew this was a really, really bad idea. He shook his head, lost his balance, grabbed the table, tilted it, and his glass slid off the table to the floor where it shattered. He looked at the broken glass and softly muttered, "Pust' sbudutsya vse tvoi vashi mechty."

Melody looked down at the broken glass, and tried hard not to find a bad omen in it. She glanced up at Illya, took in his sad eyes. "What does that mean?"

"Itza Russian toast I heard when I was little. It means--" He thought for a second, a serious look of drunken concentration on his face. "Da. It means may all your dreams come true." He let out a short bitter laugh. 

"Illya, I'm really not trying to screw with you. I really do think he cares about you. The only reason I suggested that first bet was to see if you thought about Napoleon that way. Now that I know you do, I can help. I can make your dreams about him come true." She winced at the fairy-tale connotation of her words. Then again, after finding the dreaded Illya Kuryakin in this shape and all sort of misty around the edges, Melody wouldn't have been too surprised if a miniature Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather suddenly appeared. She smiled.

Illya saw her smile and suddenly missed Napoleon dreadfully. He missed his smile, and his smell, and his way with words, and his ready friendship. He missed him so much it made his heart ache. He reached for his communicator. It wasn't there. His jacket wasn't there. His gun wasn't there. He shot Melody a panicked look.

"What? What is it?" She glanced around, alert for danger.

"I don't have my gun."

She let out a laugh. "I think that's probably a good thing, seeing as you can barely hold your head up." She held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Illya squinted his eyes. "Two?"

"My point exactly. Relax, I've got my gun."

He gave her a crooked smile. "So you're gonna protect me?"

She smiled back. "Yes, I'm going to protect the big bad Russian agent."

He could accept that. He relaxed back into his seat.

Melody started the conversation back up. "So, do we have a bet? Just give me two weeks."

Illya actually considered it. He could see it, Napoleon on his knee, professing his undying love and affection, showering kisses all over Illya's face. It was easy to see as Illya had imagined it a thousand times. 

He shook his head, disgusted at his fantasies. He was no better than a schoolgirl. He made a silent vow to stop watching all those late night romances on his television. They were corrupting him. 

She took that as a no and she tried again. "Look, there's no risk to you at all. You don't have to do anything. I'll do it all."

He suddenly decided to confess a deep dark secret. "I like Gene Kelly movies." He paused for a second. "And Fred Astaire. I like the dancing. And the singing." He sighed and ran his fingers through some drops of liquid on the table. "And the kissing."

He glanced up, expecting her to be laughing at him. He had no idea why he told her that. He'd never told anyone that, not even Napoleon. Illya was startled when he saw a brilliant smile on her face. She laced her fingers through his. "I am so in love with you. Never would I have guessed you were a closet romantic. I like you so much that if I had a tape of this conversation, I'd erase it."

He glanced down at their fingers. "I thoughtchu were a lesbian."

"I am. Doesn't mean I can't love you, though. Doesn't mean I can't be glad that I happened to be passing by and saw you sitting in here and decided to come in."

He closed his eyes and tried to run through her words. They defeated him. "Too many double negatives."

"Sorry. I just mean that I like you. As a friend. That I think you're delightful." She squeezed his hand. "And I admit that my main motive in hooking you and Napoleon up is because I'm a born busybody and a wannabe yenta, but now I really, really want to do it, because you deserve to have someone love you."

Illya gazed at her, completely oblivious to most of her words, as he'd gotten stuck on one a while ago. Delightful. No one had ever told him he was delightful. She thought he was delightful. His blood felt full of effervescent bubbles. It made him consider her offer. "I don't hafta do anything?"

"Well, you have to act like you like me. Not kissing or anything lovey-dovey, just like me like a friend." 

A friend. A friend who thought he was delightful. That seemed a ridiculously easy thing to do. "I never told anyone 'bout Gene Kelly before." He pointed a finger at her that weaved unsteadily in the air. "Justchu." He gave her a stern look that failed at its task. "Don't tell. Itza secret."

She had enough secrets on him at this point to write a best seller. And she'd take those secrets to her grave. She'd seen inside the heart of this deadly Russian spy, and she wanted in. No wonder Napoleon stuck to him like glue. He was something special. Like a hard chocolate nougat with a gooey caramel center. "Do we have a bet?"

He yawned and closed his eyes. It would be so easy just to fall asleep. 

"Illya?"

He opened his eyes. "Hmm?"

"Come on, let me take you home."

"Da." He struggled to stand, and she rose quickly and wrapped an arm around his waist, supporting him. 

It took some time, but she got him to her car, managed to coax directions out of him, and began driving. "So, teach me something else in Russian."

He thought for a minute. "Klassnaya popka."

"What's that mean?"

"Nice ass."

Melody started laughing helplessly. God, he was wonderful. "Have you ever seen the movie Casablanca?"

"Da."

"Remember the line when Sam says to Louis: 'Louis', he says, 'I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship'?"

"Da." He loved that line. He wished someone would say it to him. 

"Well, Illya. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

He felt a warmth flow through him. A friend. That made two. Two friends. Such wealth. He smiled at her. "Da."

She smiled back. Then her communicator went off. She fished it out of her purse and uncapped it. They both listened as communications informed her that there was an APB out on Illya Kuryakin, and that Napoleon Solo was to be immediately notified if he was found.

Illya grabbed for the communicator. "'Poleon?"

Melody took it back. "It's just a message on wide broadband disbursement, Illya. No one is there to listen to you."

"Wanna talk to 'Poleon."

"Do we have a bet? I get Napoleon for you?"

Illya just wanted Napoleon. He didn't care how he got him. "Da."

She smiled. "Good." She made an adjustment on the communicator and signaled headquarters. "Patch me through to Napoleon Solo."

Within seconds a rich baritone filled the car. "Solo here."

Illya grabbed the communicator again. "'Poleon?"

"Illya, is that you? Where the hell are you?" The sharply voiced question did nothing to hide his relief.

Illya looked at Melody. "Where'm I?"

She snorted. "This is where I came in. You're in my car and I'm driving you home."

Illya repeated it verbatim. "You're in my car and I'm driving you home."

"Who's with you?" Napoleon's voice was now laced with suspicion.

"I'm drunk, 'Poleon."

"I can tell. Who's with you?" 

"Medoly." 

"Who's Medoly?" 

Melody took the communicator back. "It's Melody Kingston, Napoleon. I'm with Section Three. I ran across Illya at Smoky Joe's and he seemed a little the worse for wear so I'm driving him home." 

Illya yelled from his side of the car. "She's my protector, 'Poleon. I lost my gun."

There was a moment's pause. "Jesus, how drunk is he?"

"Very."

Illya pulled her hand holding the communicator closer to him. "I told her some secrets and she said--" Illya hiccupped, then continued, "--she said I was delightful." Illya smiled nervously at his new friend. "Right. Izn't that what you said?" 

Her heart clenched at the worry in his voice, as if he was half expecting that she might now turn on him. She wondered how often that had happened. "Absolutely delightful."

"See, 'Poleon?"

"Yes, I see." His voice was tight and not particularly happy about Illya's announcement. "Melody, I'll meet you at his place. I'll be out front."

Melody grinned. "That's all right. I can get him tucked into bed."

"I'll meet you at his place. Solo out."

She started to recap the communicator but Illya snatched it again. "'Poleon?"

"He's gone, Illya. He's going to meet us at your apartment."

He wrapped his fingers around the communicator and held it closely to his chest, as if were Napoleon, and closed his eyes.

Melody watched him out of the corner of her eye. She made a silent oath that she would make this work out. She had too. Now that she knew the Russian had a heart, the last thing she wanted to do was watch it get broken.

* * *

Melody could see Napoleon pacing in front of Illya's apartment building. She pulled into a space half a block away so she could watch him for a minute. He looked worried. Really worried.

She'd forgotten about Illya. His yell brought his presence back with a vengeance. "'Poleon!" He was waving at Napoleon trying to catch his attention. Fortunately the lock on the door was frustrating his efforts to open it or he'd be spilled all over the sidewalk.

Napoleon's head shot up and he turned unerringly and focused in on his partner. Without a glance in either direction he sprinted across the street, narrowly missing being run over.

Illya had managed to get the window down and he looked as if he might be contemplating crawling out. Napoleon arrived in time to keep him from going anywhere. Illya gave his partner a big smile. "'Poleon. There you are." He turned to Melody and pointed at Napoleon. "See? There he is."

Melody nodded, fighting back a grin. She also helped herself to her communicator and slid it in her purse. She glanced at Napoleon, but he had eyes only for the Russian. Napoleon crouched by the door, his hands over the bottom rim of the open window. "Hey, are you all right?"

Melody didn't think she'd ever heard Napoleon's voice so gentle before. No that wasn't quite right. She'd never heard him sound so unmanipulative before. No hidden agendas here, just real concern for his partner.

"I'm drunk, 'Poleon."

"I know you are. Medical gave you a new drug that tends to react badly with alcohol."

Illya thought about that for a few moments. "So, thish--this izn't my fault?"

"No, Tovarisch. Not your fault."

Illya found that very reassuring. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten even near to this drunk. Actually he could remember, but he tried very hard to forget. He shook his head to clear the memories and the world tilted. When he opened his eyes again it was to see Napoleon's worried gaze. Illya smiled at him. "'Poleon." His voice held a wealth of satisfaction.

Illya flipped his head on the headrest of the car seat to look at Melody. "This is my friend, 'Poleon." Then he flipped his head back to Napoleon. "And this is my other friend, Medoly."

Napoleon glanced at Melody and gave her a tight smile. She grinned at him. "Pleased to meetcha, Napoleon."

Illya turned completely in the seat to face Napoleon, resting his hands on the open window, next to Napoleon's. Napoleon covered one of Illya's hands with one of his own. "I was worried about you."

Illya laid his head down on their hands. "That's nice."

Melody watched as Napoleon's other hand came up to stroke Illya's hair. She was sure that Napoleon had briefly forgotten all about her. His eyes were momentarily unguarded and they told her all she needed to know.

Then Illya lifted his head and looked at Napoleon's hand on his. "Are you holding my hand, 'Poleon?" Without waiting for an answer, he grinned crookedly up at his partner. "That's two times tonight." He held up his free hand and concentrated on his fingers, silently deliberating, until he had two fingers showing, and he displayed them for Napoleon. 

He explained further. "She held my hand too." Having his hand held twice in one night was an unprecedented event for him. He let out a delighted snort of laughter that elicited a laugh out of Napoleon. 

Illya reached up and grabbed Napoleon's tie, bringing his face closer. "Don't worry. See shaid--she shaid--she--said she'd erase the tape."

Napoleon's eyes narrowed. "What tape?" He peered into the car, nailing Melody with a look. "What tape?"

"Oh, boy." She shook her head. "There isn't a tape. He misunderstood something I said."

Illya turned back to her, his eyes worried. "You dinnit mean it?"

She wanted to hug him and reassure him but was afraid Napoleon would rip her arms off. Instead she put her hand on his shoulder. "Illya, I meant every word I said. I promise."

He looked at her for a moment and then he graced her with a brilliant smile. 

Melody glanced up at Napoleon and saw that he was watching Illya smile at her and he didn't look very pleased about it. She didn't care. She smiled back at Illya.

Illya let out a long sigh, and shifted his attention back to Napoleon. He lost his hold on the window rim and his hand flopped on his leg. He winced. "My leg hurts."

"I've got some pain medicine for you. Let's get you upstairs." He unlocked the door, and then told Illya to sit back. Once he was sure that Illya wasn't going to fall out of the car, he opened the door. 

Melody got out of the car to give Napoleon a hand, but when she got there, he already had Illya out, and securely tucked under an arm. She just shut the car door behind them, and then followed the two men to the apartment building.

It was slow going. Illya's legs weren't cooperating very well, and the bullet wound in the one didn't help. He was also like a kid at Christmas and kept pointing things out to the two of them. 

Melody had to work hard at not laughing at the expression on Napoleon's face. It was clear that a drunken chatterbox version of his stoic Russian partner was not something he had to deal with very often and he was working very hard not to laugh. She was also pretty sure that if she weren't there that Napoleon would be enjoying the heck out of this.

Melody opened the door to the apartment building and held it for the two men. She knew Napoleon would just as soon she left, but she had no intention of leaving until she had taken full advantage of this opportunity. After all, she had a bet to win. 

Napoleon stood at the bottom of the three flights of stairs leading to Illya's apartment. He looked at Illya, looked at the stairs, looked at Illya again, and then, without a word, catching Illya unawares, he hoisted him over his shoulder and started to climb.

Illya protested, "Hey." 

Napoleon chuckled. "That's it? Hey? Now I know you're drunk. If you were sober you'd have shot me by now."

Illya was too busy fighting off a bout of dizziness to argue further. When he recovered he realized he had a nice view of Napoleon's ass. He caught Melody's eyes and grinned at her.

She tried to remember it in Russian. Ah, she had it. "Klassnaya popka."

Illya started to giggle, and then he couldn't stop. He giggled the rest of the way up to his apartment.

It took Napoleon a flight of stairs, but he finally realized that Illya was giggling. He almost missed a step but managed to recover in time. Illya giggling? He wanted to stop so he could see his partner's face but the staircase was too narrow. He could hear Melody giggling too, as if the two of them were sharing some private joke. It made him feel like the outsider, and he didn't like it. 

A spike of jealousy speared him, and he had to take a few deep breaths to push past it. He was Illya's friend, damn it. Breathe. He was the one who'd taken the time to get behind that cool façade. Breathe. Who the hell did she think she was taking up that mantle as if she had done anything to earn it? Breathe. He decided the breathing wasn't helping.

Just because she'd seen a bit of the real Illya tonight didn't mean that he belonged to her in any way. She hadn't worked at it like Napoleon had. Slowly chipping away at that icy exterior, extending a hand of friendship over and over again no matter how many times it got slapped down before it had been finally accepted. Illya was just drunk. That was the only reason he had befriended her. Tomorrow he'd be back to his usual self, and then she'd see that whatever she thought she'd won tonight, wasn't really hers.

They'd arrived at Illya's door and Napoleon fished in his pocket for his keys. Searching for the right key he handed it to Melody. Melody opened the door. Napoleon kept her from going in and entered first himself, keying in the correct sequence of numbers into the internal alarm to keep it from going off.

Then he carried Illya into his bedroom, and did his best to gently drop him on the bed. Napoleon stood there and stared down at his partner. He looked inconceivably young. Young and happy. Napoleon had never seen him look like this. He was still giggling, a wide smile on his face, his blue eyes sparkling, blond hair spread out on the bed. He was beautiful and Napoleon couldn't take his eyes off of him.

The giggling finally started to run down and the blue eyes turned all their energy on Napoleon and the two men locked gazes, the air seeming to thicken. After a few long moments, Illya lifted a hand and said, "'Poleon?"

Napoleon found himself taking a step closer to the bed, his hand reaching for Illya.

Melody walked into the bedroom, a cup of water in hand, and realized too late that she was interrupting something. For a second she thought about leaving, but then she changed her mind. It was too soon. Napoleon needed to be nudged a bit more before the touching started. He needed to really understand what it was he had and was being offered. There was no way Illya was ending up another notch on his bedpost.

So she barged in. "Here's some water for your medicine." She prodded Napoleon, "Medicine? You did say you had some?"

"What? Oh, yes. He reached into his suit jacket's inner pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. He tapped two out into Illya's palm. "Here."

Illya frowned at them. "Two?"

"Yes, two. Don't argue."

Illya struggled to sit up so he could take the pills. Once that was done, he flopped back down on the bed. And yawned, loudly.

Napoleon grinned at him. "Are we keeping you up?"

Illya just yawned again.

Melody laughed at that and then tapped Napoleon on the arm. "Did you cancel the APB?"

He nodded, but the question had gotten Illya's attention. "'Poleon, why did you do that?"

"I was worried about you. I went back to Medical and you'd sneaked out. Why did you do that? Why didn't you wait for me?"

Illya flung his arms out dramatically to either side and let out an energetic "Ha!" A finger came up and pointed at Napoleon. "You left with that--that--" Illya looked to Melody for assistance.

She was glad to help. "That hussy?"

Illya grinned at her and then he looked disapprovingly at Napoleon. "You left with that hussy." He mouthed the word again, making the s's particularly sibilant, which got him giggling again. He wiggled up on the bed until he found a pillow and happily sank into it.

Napoleon glanced at Melody and saw that she had been appreciating the view of a wiggling Illya as much as he had and he frowned at her. "I'd like to talk to you for a minute."

She nodded, took another look at Illya who was stretching on the bed, his fingers making a sensual play over the soft fabric of the comforter, and sighed. It almost made her regret her sexual orientation. Almost. She followed Napoleon into the living room.

He walked to the fireplace and picked up one of the knick knacks there, a crystal paperweight he'd bought for Illya for his birthday. "I'd like to have you explain what he meant about the tape."

Melody sighed to herself. "I was just being silly. You see what he's like. I just wished that I had a tape recorder so I could tape him. He's a riot like this. I could make a million dollars."

"So why does he think you made a tape?" Napoleon's voice made it clear that playing games with his partner was not all right.

Melody swallowed. She really didn't want to make an enemy of this man. The next two weeks were going to be an interesting tightrope walk until Napoleon staked his claim. "He's drunk, Napoleon. I just told him that if I'd made a tape that I would destroy it."

"Why?"

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. The bottom line was that Napoleon didn't like that she had spent time with Illya; whether she had taped him or not was incidental. She told him the truth. "I like him." Then she went on the offensive. "Don't you like him?"

"Of course I like him." He sounded insulted by the question.

"Well then, there you go." Melody made it clear in her tone that, as far as she was concerned, that explained everything. She glanced toward the bedroom. "Are you going to stay? Because if you can't, if you've got a date or something, I'd be glad to stay."

Napoleon glowered at her. "I'll be staying."

"Okay, okay. Just offering." Melody headed toward the bedroom. Napoleon raced to catch up and they ended up at the door together. Illya was fast asleep. He was lying on his side, hands tucked under his chin, his knees partially drawn up. Napoleon and Melody both watched him sleep for a minute, then Melody let out a sigh. "He sure is easy on the eyes, isn't he?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Well, I gotta go. It's been fun."

Napoleon just flashed her a look, but he did walk her to the door. Melody decided it was to make sure she really left, more than good manners. 

He cleared his throat when she crossed the threshold. She turned to him and waited. Finally he forced some words out. "Thank you for finding him and bringing him home."

Melody fought back a grin. Those words couldn't have been easy to say. The grin won out. "Napoleon? It was my pleasure." She shut the door at the disgruntled look on his face and laughed as she walked toward the stairs. This was gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel.

* * *

Napoleon walked back into the bedroom, and he stared down at his partner. By sheer dint of will, he resisted the temptation to lie down next to him. He took off Illya's shoes, and worked the sheet and blanket down from under his body. Napoleon covered him, shut out the light, and left the room.

* * *

The next day at work Napoleon glanced over at his partner, and shook his head. He wondered if Illya was taking a nap. It was hard to tell with those dark glasses of his. Napoleon had suggested he take the day off, but Illya had stubbornly insisted, very quietly due to his killer hangover, that if he was going to be miserable, he might as well be miserable at work.

Napoleon was sure it was just Illya's way of making him miserable, too. He hadn't spoken in sentences of more than one word and those words hadn't been pleasant. He finally took pity on Illya and went to the commissary and brought him back a large cup of coffee.

It seemed to help. Within an hour the dark glasses were off. Illya still was speaking in single word sentences, but a blistering glower no longer accompanied them. 

It was almost lunchtime when there was a knock on the door and when it slid open, Melody was standing there.

Napoleon glanced at Illya to see that he was doing his usual routine of ignoring anyone who came into the office. Entertaining was Napoleon's job. He bit back a grin.

"Hey, Illya, Napoleon."

Napoleon gave her a jaunty wave. Illya just grunted.

Melody cleared her throat. "So, uh, Illya, can I talk to you for a minute?"

He shook his head while gesturing at his desk. "I have too much work to do." Never once did he make eye contact with her.

Napoleon leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. He wanted to enjoy every moment of this. He caught her dirty look, and just grinned at her.

She cleared her throat again. "I won't keep you long. I just need to talk to you about something."

Illya finally glanced up, and Napoleon could see the discomfort in his eyes. In his mind's eye he saw the Illya of last night, lying on his bed, smiling, laughing, open, willing. Napoleon felt his groin tighten, and he forced the vision away.

Illya shook his head and went back to his work. 

Napoleon looked up at Melody, and saw that she was scrutinizing his partner, her lips pursed, her eyes squinted in thought. Then she nodded her head, having reached some sort of decision. She stood right in front of Illya's desk and rapped on it.

When Illya looked up in surprise, she grinned at him. "Louis. Come have lunch with me."

Napoleon furrowed his brows. Louis? What was she doing? His eyes flicked to Illya and he was astonished to see the start of a smile on his lips. His astonishment turned into shock when Illya put down his pen, shrugged into his jacket, and left, with Melody in tow.

Napoleon's feet slid off the desk. Just for a moment his life felt like a Twilight Zone episode. Illya never had lunch with anyone, except him. Never. He certainly never had lunch with someone just because they called him Louis. Was it a code? Had she brainwashed him somehow?

Napoleon almost hoped she had, because if she didn't, then it meant that maybe he was losing his place in Illya's life. And, he thought in some pique, what did his partner have that he didn't have? Melody had turned him down flat on any number of occasions. His pique turned to depression soon enough. He didn't care about her; what he cared about was Illya. 

* * *

They walked down the hall in silence until they were alone, and then Illya spoke. "I'm sorry. I'm--I'm not very good at this."

Melody flashed him a grin. "That's all right." They came to a choice of hallways. "Commissary or outdoors somewhere?"

"Outdoors."

She let him lead the way. "You do it with Napoleon."

He gave her a startled glance. "What?"

"The friends thing. You do it with him okay."

Illya thought about that. It was true. Being friends with Napoleon was easy. Now. It hadn't been at first, but Napoleon hadn't given up. It came to him suddenly, like a bolt of lightening, forcing him to a complete stop out on the sidewalk in front of the cleaners. Napoleon made it easy because he did all the work. 

"What is it?"

"I just realized something." He scuffed at a small green plant trying to hold its own as it forced its way through the concrete sidewalk. "He does it. He is good at it, so I let him. I let him do it all." 

"You mean he does all the asking?"

Illya nodded. "He asks, I go."

"You don't ever ask?"

Illya thought about it and felt a moment of shame. He shook his head. "No."

"He must really, really like you."

Illya shrugged.

"It's not okay, though. I mean, it has been up to now, but if this bet is gonna work, you have to contribute a little, let him know you want to be with him."

Illya winced. The bet. He, unfortunately, remembered everything about last night. "I do not think this is a good idea." Illya began to walk again.

She fell into step with him. "Too late. It's already started. Napoleon's already freaking out that you're spending time with me."

"He will recover."

She shook her head. "He won't. Not unless you stop spending time with me and that's not all right with me. If you don't give him some encouragement, he's gonna cope by going all noble and stepping out of the way so you can find true love, and then he's gonna sleep with anything that gets in his way, doing everything he can to avoid you."

They walked a considerable distance. Finally Illya said, "How does this bet work?"

There was a pause. "What do you mean?"

"Am I betting against you?"

"No. You're betting on me. I say I can do it. If I do it, you give me something. If I don't, I give you something."

"What sort of something?"

"Hmmm. Well, if I can't do it, I'll take you out to the restaurant of your choice as a consolation prize."

"And if you can?"

She thought for a minute and flashed him a wicked grin. "Okay, at the next agent debriefing, you have to walk up to Napoleon and kiss him right on the lips and stake your claim. Let everyone know he's off the market."

Illya snorted. He'd move back to Russia and tell them he was a homosexual first. Then he realized that the risk of him having to do this was minimal. She was not going to be successful. Not even if she had a year, let alone two weeks. No matter what she said, him spending time with Melody wasn't going to make Napoleon fall in love with him. "You are not risking enough."

They walked further while she thought. "Fair enough. Okay. There's this woman I really like; her name is Kelly. But I haven't got up the nerve to say anything to her. If I can't do it, if I can't get Napoleon to sweep you off your feet, I'll go and tell her how I feel."

"I will go with you, to make sure you do it." 

He would too. A flush of panic swept through her. Too big a risk. Making herself vulnerable. Risking a friendship. Except that it was exactly what she was asking Illya to do. It was only fair. "It's a deal."

There was a long pause, and then Illya said, again, "This is a very bad idea."

She grinned at him. "So, you'll do it?"

"Da." He hoped he wouldn't regret it. After a moment's sober reflection he was sure he'd regret it.

"Teach me a new word."

"What?"

"Teach me a new Russian word. A word a day."

"Shasliva."

"Shasliva. What's that mean?"

"Good luck."

She snorted and laced her arm through his. "So, oh ye of no social graces. How'd you miss out?"

He sent her a puzzled look. "Miss out on what?"

"On the social graces. Don't they have them in Russia ? Don't Russian mothers and fathers believe in teaching their children the do's and don'ts of polite society?"

Illya kicked a stone off the sidewalk. "I suppose most Russian parents believe in this."

"But yours didn't?"

Illya scowled. "I do not like to talk about my childhood."

She flashed him an unrepentant grin. "And you think that's supposed to stop me from prying? This is me. Ginger to your Fred, Leslie to your Gene. Talk to me."

Illya couldn't stop the small grin that formed on his face. Then he scowled again. "They died when I was very young."

"How young?"

"Three, four, perhaps."

She stopped walking, pulled her arm free, and turned so she was facing him. "What happened then?"

"Must we talk about this?"

"Yes, we must. You need to learn to open up a little. This is good practice. If you expect to have Napoleon as a long-term lover, you'll need to tell him things about yourself. Mystery is all well and good, but too much of it kills a relationship."

Illya crossed his arms over his chest, feeling defensive, vulnerable. "He hasn't seemed to mind."

"Because you're partners and friends. But pillow talk is a whole new ballgame. Contrary to public belief, guys do, on occasion, talk to each other in bed."

Illya let out a long beleaguered sigh.

"Come on, fess up, Kuryakin." Suddenly, Melody scrunched up her face and put her hand lightly on his arm. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make light of what you just said. I'm sorry your parents died. You really don't have to tell me anything more."

Illya stared at the ground, deliberating. Thoughts of Napoleon ran through his head. The times he'd turned Napoleon's invitations down, the times he'd rebuffed Napoleon's gestures of aid, the times he'd rudely set aside Napoleon's genuine inquiries about his life. He wondered, for a moment, why his partner put up with him. He squared his shoulders and said, "Orphanages."

"Orphanages? As in plural?"

"Yes. There were many of them. Every year or so, a new one."

"Why?"

"It was a land ravaged by war. Cities were bombed, food was scarce. The orphanages did their best, but there was little to be spared for children. Few of them stayed open for long."

"How did you end up here?"

"The KGB sent officers to the orphanages, looking for likely recruits. I was chosen when I was fourteen. They sent me to school, and began to teach me skills they could use."

Her mouth was hanging open. "Fourteen? You became a part of the KGB when you were fourteen?"

He looked around uneasily. "You might want to keep your voice down."

"Oh, God, sorry." She glanced around as well, relieved there was no one close by. "Jesus, Kuryakin. So all your social graces are courtesy of the KGB?" She grinned at the disgruntled look on his face. "How the hell did you end up here at U.N.C.L.E.?"

"I was already in school in London when U.N.C.L.E. approached the Soviet government about their desire for an agent. I was chosen." He shrugged, as if his journey from Kiev to New York was nothing out of the ordinary.

She shook her head in amazement. "You should write a book."

He snorted out a laugh. "I do not think anyone would read it."

"I would. Napoleon would."

Illya began to walk again and steered her to a food kiosk. It was one of Napoleon's favorites. He ordered three cheesesteak sandwiches and then watched as the man crammed the rolls full of so much steak and onions that it seemed an impossibility to eat. The vendor expertly wrapped the three sandwiches in foil and handed them to Illya. Illya gave one to Melody and then he paid for the sandwiches.

She glanced at the two sandwiches in his hand. "You eating both of those?"

Illya shook his head. "One is for Napoleon." He started slowly walking back to Headquarters.

Melody smiled at him. "Aww. See? You're not completely hopeless, Kuryakin." 

He gave her a caustic look. "I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear that."

She laughed and dug into her sandwich. They were both crumpling up the aluminum foil when they arrived back to Del Florias. With a hand on his arm she kept him from entering. "Wait."

Illya stopped and waited.

"I have a plan."

Illya sent her a sour expression. "Somehow I think I will learn to fear those words."

She sent the expression right back. "Ha ha. No, this is a good plan. This is what you have to do." With that she gave him his instructions for the day.

* * *

Napoleon was flirting hard with the receptionist, pretending not to notice Illya and Melody as they walked in. Melody was guessing that he'd been there for a while, waiting for them to return. She prodded Illya up to the desk, where he received his badge from the dazed girl. Napoleon's pheromones were obviously overwhelming her. 

As Illya started to walk away, Melody prodded him again and motioned toward the sandwich. Illya held it out to Napoleon, although Melody was sure that Illya really wanted to smack him over the head with it. "Here, I bought you a sandwich."

Napoleon dropped all pretense of flirting and looked down at the sandwich. "You got me a sandwich?"

Illya withdrew the sandwich a couple of inches. "Perhaps you've already eaten lunch?"

Napoleon grabbed the sandwich. "No, no, I haven't had time." Remembering that he was supposed to be flirting, Napoleon beamed at the receptionist.

Illya scowled. "Well, I will leave you to your busy schedule." With that he turned on his heel and headed for his office at a fast clip. Melody followed him, after flashing Napoleon what she hoped was a look that let him know that she was the lucky one here.

She hurried to catch up until she was walking by Illya's side, thinking about what he had revealed regarding his childhood. It was understandable that he didn't like to talk about it. He had outlined his life from the age of three until he joined U.N.C.L.E. in less than two minutes, with barely an inflection in his voice, but she couldn't imagine what that life had been like. 

Melody flashed on how Illya had been last night, his giggles, and his easy trust of her. It stunned her that he still had that in him, that he had any ability at all to trust, to open his heart. She suspected that normally it was hidden pretty deeply and Melody discovered a newfound respect for Napoleon, guessing that he had been fighting an uphill battle to befriend the Russian. And even though she knew that right now Napoleon wasn't happy about her new involvement with his partner, Melody vowed to make it all right.

She could sense that Illya was closing up. No doubt watching Napoleon drool over that woman hadn't helped. Unrequited love was a bitch. Melody stopped Illya's steady pace with a hand on his arm. He reluctantly came to a stop.

"Illya, this really will work."

He shook his head. "No, it won't. And I don't--" He stopped talking, turning his head, looking away.

Her fingers tightened around his arm and took a guess. "You don't like setting yourself up to get hurt?"

His lips tightened. "It seems an extremely foolish thing to do."

"I suppose in one way it is, but if this could work, isn't he worth it? If it works, you'll get it all. If it doesn't--" She shrugged, "--you're already miserable now, what difference will it make?"

The corners of his lips curled up. "Ah, now you're appealing to my Slavic nature." The smile vanished. "Why are you doing this?"

Melody wasn't sure her answer would suit him, but she gave it anyway. "Because I like you."

He cocked his head to the side. "Why?"

"Because of last night."

"That is not the way I am." He gestured toward himself. "This is the way I am. Last night was a combination of alcohol and medication."

She shook her head. "It was you, and this is you. You're both. You just need to figure out how to find the guy you were last night."

"Why would I want to do that?"

Melody worried her bottom lip for a minute. "Do you remember last night? I mean all of it?"

He scowled and then nodded.

She grinned at his expression. "Okay, other than feeling embarrassed at how you were acting, did you have fun? Did you have a good time? Did it feel good to just let go and laugh, and say what you wanted, and feel the things you felt? Did it?"

Illya scowled again. When two other agents walked by, Illya started walking again toward his office. On arrival, they entered, and the door slid shut behind them.

Melody picked up where she left off. "Listen to me. I know you think you were foolish last night, and there's no doubt about it that you were pretty goofy, but you were also so wonderful I could hardly stand it. I guarantee you that this person you think you are, this quiet, closed off, moody, friendless Russian you portray is not what drove Napoleon to make you his friend. He saw something else, the same thing I got a crash course in last night, and that's what he's attracted to."

She grinned at him. "And the packaging isn't bad either." Melody laughed at him as he reddened. "You see? The person you think you are would never blush because of a compliment."

Illya leaned against a wall, hands in his pocket. "I do not know how to be that man." He flashed a wry grin. "And I do not think that drinking vodka and taking experimental drugs is the answer."

Melody barked out a laugh. "No, it isn't. And the answer isn't for you to be the man from last night, either. Being the way you are has been enough for Napoleon, and it will be for me as well. As long as every now and then we get to see what's inside. Just a peek."

Illya let out a sigh. "I do not know how to give you this peek."

"You're already doing it, Illya. This isn't about you needing to change the way you behave, it's about you getting more comfortable acknowledging that deep inside of you is someone who wants to be happy, who wants to have friends, and wants to be loved and love in return. And all that means is that you're human, just like me, just like Napoleon. That's what we all want."

All she got in return for that speech was silence. Illya was studying the floor, and seemed to find it endlessly fascinating. She let out a sigh. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being extraordinarily presumptuous, talking to you this way after one drunken evening of bliss, but somehow you got to me, and for some reason I feel like I've known you forever and that I have the right to tell you how to lead your life." 

When he still didn't answer, she let out another sigh. "Do you want me to go? Do you want to forget about the bet?"

This time it was Illya who let out the sigh. He pushed off from the wall and headed toward his desk. "Yes, I do want you to go, but only because I have work to do. No, I don't want to forget about the bet, although I am a fool for saying so."

Melody started to grin, bouncing happily on her toes. "You'll see. I'll make it work. You just have to do what I told you to do."

He flashed her a look. "I do not take orders very well."

She laughed, unscathed. 

He sighed again. Then he held up the paper. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

Melody's eyes widened. "What?"

"I said, are you free tomorrow night?"

She nodded, even more sure her plan would work, as her own heart was doing a little dance at this implied invitation to join him. She tried to remember what day tomorrow was. Friday. "Yes, I am."

He extended the paper, his finger pointing at an advertisement. His voice was brusk, covering his embarrassment. "I saw this this morning."

She walked the few steps to him and looked at the ad. It was an advertisement for an old movie theatre in the village. It was showcasing Cyd Charisse in a double feature: Silk Stockings and Brigadoon.

Melody felt like she'd been handed the keys to the city. She knew she was the only person Illya would ever, at least for the time being, ever ask to go to something like this, because he'd told her a secret last night, and she hadn't laughed at him. "Are you asking me to go with you?"

He nodded tersely.

She knew he was waiting for her to say no. She knew it. Instead, she threw her arms around him, and hugged him. "I'd love to. I love those movies. I'd love to go with you."

The hug didn't last long because Melody could tell Illya was uncomfortable with it. She had a feeling she'd always be pushing his boundaries. But he had agreed to lunch, and now had asked her to spend even more time with him, so she was guessing that was okay. Melody grinned at him. "If Napoleon hugs you like that, you better hug him better than you did me."

She laughed when he reddened again, and then laughed when Napoleon chose that moment to enter the office. Ruthless, she kissed Illya on the cheek, winked at Napoleon, and walked out. 

* * *

Illya had never considered himself to be overly sensitive to the moods of others, but the negative emotions emanating from his partner were hard to ignore. He casually tossed the paper on his desk and moved to sit behind it.

Napoleon stalked to his own and slammed down into the chair. Illya could hear him muttering. 

Illya found it hard to believe, although he fought against a rising tide of hope, that Napoleon's bad mood was entirely due to jealousy. It gave him the courage to start following Melody's instructions. "Napoleon?"

Napoleon didn't lift his eyes from his paperwork. "What?" he snarled.

"Do you--are you--do you want to have dinner tonight?"

"With who?" Napoleon was still speaking to his paperwork.

Illya felt a moment of sadness that it hadn't even occurred to his partner that the proposed dinner was with him. He felt keenly his lack of participation in the forging of their friendship. "With me. Dinner with me."

That got Napoleon's attention. He lifted astonished eyes to Illya. "With you? You're asking me to have dinner with you?" Before Illya had a chance to respond, his eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Illya took a deep breath. "Because I want to. Because we missed our usual post mission dinner. Because--because we're friends." There was a brief pause, and Illya braced himself for some biting remark. But then Napoleon gave him a brilliant smile that lit up his whole face. It made Illya's heart skip a beat. "Is that a yes?"

Napoleon nodded. "You bet, partner. I'll even let you treat."

Illya grinned at him, and with a light heart he attacked the files on his desk. He kept grinning when he heard Napoleon start to hum as he finished working on his.

When an hour had gone by, Illya placed the last file in his out box and stood. "I need to go to the lab to check on an experiment."

Napoleon stood too. "I need to stretch my legs, I think I'll walk with you."

Any time spent with his partner suited Illya just fine, so he waited at the door while Napoleon made a few neat piles on his desk. The two men walked down the hall, side by side. As they approached the elevator, the receptionist waved and caught Napoleon's attention. He turned to Illya. "I'll catch you later, Illya, I need to talk to Nancy."

Illya nodded, keeping his dismay to himself, cursing Melody for talking him into this whole situation. He decided that the only thing that would force him to abandon this mad dream was to listen to Napoleon woo one of his women. That should sober him up soon enough. Gloomy decision made, Illya forewent the elevator and sneaked around so he could eavesdrop on his partner.

Napoleon perched on the edge of Nancy's desk. "Ah, Nancy."

She batted her eyelashes at him. "Yes, Napoleon."

Illya rolled his eyes.

"I need to cancel our date for tonight, I'm afraid."

She stopped batting her eyelashes. "But, Napoleon, I was looking forward to it."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But something's come up."

"Well, how about tomorrow night?"

He gave her his most charming smile. "I don't really like to plan that far ahead."

She frowned at him. "Tomorrow night is too far ahead?"

Napoleon took her hand. "It's a dangerous business we're in, Nancy. Who knows what tomorrow may bring."

Illya had to bite his lips hard to keep from laughing. And the delight that was rippling through him was intoxicating. Napoleon had broken a date with a woman for him. He couldn't believe it. Silently, he headed for the lab, leaving Napoleon to his lies.

* * *

Illya chose Napoleon's favorite restaurant, a small Italian place on Mulberry. Napoleon stopped inside the door, as he always did, to take a deep breath and appreciate the rich alluring aromas in the air. It also gave the owner a chance to race over to seat them at Napoleon's favorite table. Illya had called ahead and made reservations, asking for this table. He had to admit that taking responsibility for an evening out, knowing he was pleasing his friend, was--well, it felt good.

A bottle of wine appeared for Napoleon's inspection. He gave Illya a surprised look, and then nodded at the waiter, approving the selection. He waited until their glasses were full before speaking. "How did you know?"

"That it was your favorite?"

Napoleon nodded.

"I've seen you order it enough."

"I didn't think you noticed that sort of thing."

"I am an agent, Napoleon. I'm trained to notice everything." Which wasn't quite true, as he'd never picked up on the fact that Napoleon had taken men to bed. For a brief panicked moment he wondered if Melody had been wrong, if all he was going to accomplish was to make a huge fool out of himself.

Napoleon pursed his lips, and lifted his glass to offer a toast. "To friendship."

Illya clicked his glass against Napoleon's. "To friendship." This had been only part of Melody's instructions. And it had been relatively easy, once the asking was over. This next part felt harder. He felt like a salmon swimming upstream. Illya decided that it was an appropriate metaphor. If all went well, after all, he would have a mate. The best mate of all.

Forcing words past the invisible gag in his mouth he spoke. "They had a winery at one of the orphanages I was at. We got to help crush the grapes one year." There, he'd done it. He lifted his eyes and risked a look at Napoleon.

His partner was as still as a statue, his wine glass frozen halfway to his lips. He put his glass down on the table, and Illya could see that his hand was a little shaky. Napoleon dropped his gaze, and his fingers played over his silverware. Illya began to think that he'd done something wrong, said the wrong thing.

Napoleon cleared his throat. "I--tell me more about it." His eyes lifted to Illya's and Illya was momentarily stunned by the affection he saw in the dark eyes.

Illya did as asked. He talked about the children, skinny and knock-kneed, pants rolled up over their knees, laughing and squealing as they squished the grapes underneath their bare feet. It helped Illya remember that there had been some good days in between all the bad ones. 

Napoleon was grinning at the image. "Did you get to taste the wine the next year?"

Illya shook his head. "No, I was sent to another orphanage." He smiled ruefully at his partner. "I've always wondered about it, though."

Napoleon laid his hand quickly over Illya's. "I'll bet it was their best year."

Illya let out a softly expelled breath. "It will have to remain a mystery. I don't imagine any of it survived the war." 

"Do you--" Napoleon stopped mid sentence.

Illya could see that he had trained Napoleon too well not to ask questions. He felt another flush of shame. "It's all right, Napoleon. What do you want to know?" Napoleon had left off playing with his silverware and had moved on to the salt and pepper shakers. Illya couldn't remember seeing his partner this nervous in a social setting. 

Napoleon clasped his hands on the table in front of him, abandoning his toys. "Do you ever want to go back?" With a quick shake of his head, he clarified. "I mean, not to live, but to visit. To see any of these places, to try to trace down any friends or relatives?"

Illya fought the urge to play with his own silverware. "My family is dead. And I have no friends to trace. It was difficult to make friends when you never stayed any place for long. There was no guarantee that the same children would be moved with you. It became easier at some point just not to even try." Illya forced his gaze up to meet Napoleon's. "You are--you are the first real friend I've had." His heart was pounding in his chest. He'd rather face enemy fire than put himself at risk like this. But Melody was right. Napoleon was worth it.

Napoleon's eyes were bright as he returned Illya's gaze. "You don't know how proud that makes me."

Illya could have sat there all night, staring into those rich chocolate eyes, but the waiter was suddenly there, ready to take their order. Napoleon knew the menu by heart so he ordered as Illya took a quick look. Orders taken, wine glasses refilled, the waiter moved on to other duties.

There were a few moments of silence once they were alone again. Illya wished they were truly alone. He wished he had the right to touch his partner. He wished that Napoleon would beckon the violinist over and pay him to play something heartbreakingly romantic just for the two of them. He wished--Illya scoffed at himself and tried to rope his imagination in. Maybe he should cancel his plans for tomorrow night. The last thing he needed to be doing was filling his mind with more romantic drivel.

He let out a sigh.

Napoleon tapped his wine glass to get his attention. "Everything all right, tovarisch?"

Illya gave him a startled glance. He hadn't realized he'd been so transparent. That was the problem with letting down your guard--you forgot to put it back up. Or, even worse, you didn't want to put it back up. Which was how he felt now. This dinner, this conversation, it all felt so intimate. He liked it. And he remembered that Napoleon had asked him a question. He decided to answer it with a question. "Don't you ever--" Illya lost his nerve.

Napoleon wasn't about to let him get away with it. "Don't I ever what?"

The words spilled out in a rush. "Don't you ever want more? Don't you ever wish you had someone to really be with, someone who was really your own?"

Napoleon took a sip of wine. "You mean like in a fairy tale? True love, happily ever after, that sort of thing?"

His answer deflated Illya a bit. "I take it that means no?" He should have known better. Napoleon wasn't the sort to want to settle down. 

"No, I didn't say that. I'm just not sure I believe in it. The odds of finding that one person, and that person feeling the same way about you, well, they're not very good." He stopped talking as the salads were delivered. Napoleon doused his in oil and vinegar. "Is that what you want?"

Illya decided that, on the off chance this crazy bet worked, he might as well use this opportunity to make sure Napoleon knew exactly what he'd be getting into. "Yes. That's what I want. Someone to love, someone to love me. Someone I don't have to share. Someone who would think I was enough. Someone I could come home to and know that he--she would be there." Illya could have slapped himself for that slip of the tongue. He could only hope that Napoleon hadn't noticed.

"He? That he would be there?"

So much for that hope. Illya should have known better. There wasn't much that Napoleon missed. He gave his partner a look, hoping it was portraying cool sophistication. "He or she. I believe you should leave all your options open. Don't you, Napoleon?" 

Napoleon considered Illya over his wine glass. "I don't think I've ever seen you go out on a date with anyone, even when a woman is all but throwing herself at you. How you do you expect to find this Mrs. Or--" There was a brief pause, "--Mr. Right?"

Illya shrugged. He couldn't really answer that question and tell Napoleon that he had already found him, that he was sitting across from him.

They both concentrated on their salads for a few minutes. Efficiently, the waiter appeared and whisked the salad plates away, returning shortly with their entrees. 

Napoleon let out a long breath, and then shook his fork at Illya. "A man? You'd really be willing to pair up with a man?"

Illya was beginning to think that Napoleon had no idea that he preferred men. For some reason, he had always assumed that Napoleon knew that, just like he always seemed to know everything about everyone. Although he'd been wrong about Melody. Illya began to believe that it had been a very fortunate slip of the tongue. Taking a sip of his wine, he pretended to think about the question, and then he nodded. "The right man." He gave Napoleon a quick glance. "Does that bother you?"

"No. No, not at all. No."

Illya dug in to his supper. Every time he lifted his eyes he found Napoleon watching him. Each time it grew harder and harder to pull his eyes away. And every time Napoleon used his tongue to clean his fork, or lick his lips, Illya felt as if a battalion of butterflies was attacking his stomach. It was making it hard to eat. He felt like a male version of Leslie Caron in Daddy Longlegs, or even better, like Debbie Reynolds in Singing in the Rain, when Gene Kelly had her up on that ladder with the wind blowing on her, and he was staring at her with such a look of adoration on his face.

"Illya. Illya."

Illya snapped out of his reverie. "What?"

"Where did you go? What were you thinking? You had the weirdest look on your face."

Illya unsuccessfully fought back a blush. He could feel it heat his face. He waved Napoleon's curiosity off, having absolutely no intention of satisfying it. An awkward silence fell as both men ate their dinners, but soon enough Napoleon broke the ice and started up a conversation about the latest U.N.C.L.E. gossip. 

Illya took the lifeline with gratitude, and the two men chatted with ease over a multitude of subjects during the remainder of the meal. 

The tension started to grow again as they lingered over an after dinner brandy. Now that he'd allowed the possibility to take root, Illya was having a hard time suppressing his longing for Napoleon, and was having an even harder time trying not to imagine he was seeing a similar look in Napoleon's eyes. 

As he listened to Napoleon's soft baritone discuss the merits of one brandy over another, Illya imagined leaning over the table and grabbing Napoleon's tie, pulling the man's face within reach of his lips. He imagined Napoleon's tongue sweeping into his mouth, his hands fisting in his hair. Then Napoleon would pull Illya out of his seat and lay him back on the table, sending all the condiments crashing to the floor. 

"Illya."

Then Napoleon would crawl up him until he lay over Illya. Illya imagined running his hand down that muscled back, his hands digging into that tight ass. And Napoleon would just keep kissing him, his tongue wet and warm and strong, the taste of him a heady combination of brandy, and chocolate and Bolognese sauce.

"Illya!"

And he would lift his legs and wrap them around Napoleon's strong thighs, and bring him closer still, until he could feel--

"Illya Kuryakin. Earth to Illya Kuryakin."

It took a moment for Illya to pull back from his fantasy and focus on his partner. His cock was hard as a rock under the table. He glanced down at the tabletop and saw that all the condiments were just as they had been, safe and secure. Illya rubbed his face with his hand and tried very hard to think of the many uses for the quadratic equation.

Napoleon cleared his throat. "You, ah, you want to come back to my place for a drink?"

Illya suppressed a groan. Everything inside of him was screaming yes, his cock was screaming yes, his fantasy life was screaming yes. But the last part of Melody's instructions had been painstakingly clear. Under no circumstances was he to be alone with Napoleon. It was Too Soon. It would interfere with The Plan. It was why he'd met Napoleon here so they wouldn't even be alone in the car. 

Illya sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Then he looked up at Napoleon and shook his head. "No."

"No?" Napoleon's eyebrows were almost off his head.

"Not tonight."

"Why?"

Illya had no idea why except that Melody told him not to, and he didn't think that would go over very well. He racked his brain for a reasonable lie. "Uh--my leg is hurting." He glanced up at Napoleon to see how that was going over.

Napoleon was staring at him, his knuckles rapping against his lips.

Illya kept a wince off his face. The rapping was not a good thing. It meant Napoleon was thinking. He prayed for his communicator to go off, and he almost had a heart attack when it did.

He pulled it out and glanced around to make sure no one was paying them undue attention. "Kuryakin here."

The message was hard to hear, but the gist of it was that his presence was required at U.N.C.L.E. Illya had a sneaking suspicion that the caller had been Melody but he couldn't be positive. In any case, it was fortuitous timing. He flashed Napoleon an apologetic smile. "Duty calls."

Napoleon looked like he smelled a rat. "Yes, how convenient."

Illya decided he better run if he was going to get away. He grabbed the check, told Napoleon he'd take care of it on the way out, and leaving a bemused Napoleon behind, he headed for the cashier and the front door.

* * *

It had been Melody. She was waiting for him at U.N.C.L.E. Illya had been less than pleased to see her, imagining that if she had not called that Napoleon would have kept at him relentlessly until he'd been persuaded to come over for a drink and that even now they might be kissing. He taught her a new word in Russian. It was not a highly complimentary one. She just laughed at him and made plans for dinner tomorrow.

With a scowl, Illya got in his car and drove home to his empty apartment.

* * *

Napoleon watched as Illya raced out of the restaurant, with nary a limp in sight. He sat back in his chair, and sipped at his brandy, trying to collect himself, and trying to rein in his libido which was suddenly working overtime. It would be somewhat embarrassing to get up at this particular juncture.

What the hell had just happened? His instincts told him, and they were rarely wrong when it came to the game of love, that he could have taken Illya right on top of this table. But then, when he'd tendered the invitation to take it someplace private, Illya had run out of here like his pants were on fire.

Napoleon tapped out a tattoo on the tabletop with his fingertips. That look in Illya's eyes had taken him by surprise. Christ, the whole evening had taken him by surprise, starting with the invitation for dinner in the first place.

Illya had never invited him anywhere. Sure, he came willingly often enough when Napoleon invited him, but Illya never instigated a social engagement. It had bothered Napoleon at first, but then he'd shrugged it off as just one of those things. So, he'd been the one to ask, and learned not to mind when Illya turned him down.

So the invitation today was--well, it was out of character. But so was the care Illya had taken. His favorite restaurant, his favorite table, his favorite wine. Almost like a date. Napoleon bit the inside of his cheek, lost in thought.

The next shocker had been when Illya had actually spoken about his childhood. Without any prompting. Just opened his mouth and out it had come. Napoleon grinned, the image of Illya as a child stomping on grapes a gift beyond measure. In the year they'd been together, Illya had never said a word--unless at gunpoint or under drugs--about his past. And he'd made it very clear that the subject was off limits. Napoleon hadn't minded--too much.

But tonight, not only had he spoken of it, but he'd also encouraged questions. And hadn't bitten Napoleon's head off for it. Napoleon let out a soft laugh. Somehow, in the year that he'd known his partner, Illya had gotten under his skin, crawled inside his heart, and taken up permanent residence. He had dreamed of a day when Illya would feel comfortable enough with him to drop his shields, trusting that whatever he told Napoleon would be safely guarded. 

The thrill of it had taken Napoleon by surprise. When Illya had uttered that one line, just one simple line, Napoleon had wanted to hug the man. The only thing that had stopped him was the knowledge that Illya would have bitten his head off.

But then Illya had gotten lost in thought and when Napoleon finally snapped him out of it, the look on his face, the passion in his eyes, the rapid breathing, the flushed skin, Jesus, it had been all Napoleon could do to not yank him from his seat and start kissing him.

He couldn't believe how fast he'd responded. All he could think about was kissing Illya, kissing and kissing him, while a sensation of heat rushed through him replacing every thought with pure need. He'd been surprised to hear himself talk, sure that his ability to speak had been burned away.

And, even more astonishing, or equally astonishing, as Napoleon wasn't sure he could rate the events of the day in order of shock value, was the announcement that Illya would take a male as a partner. Napoleon was appalled that he hadn't seen that. How could he have spent a year with a man and not picked up on that?

He took another sip of brandy. Maybe the medicine was still affecting him. Maybe the alcohol tonight had set it off again. It might explain everything. Why Illya was so talkative, his sensuality, his lapses. 

Napoleon drummed again on the table. It helped explain things but he didn't believe it. He couldn't help but grin as he thought of how Illya had been the night before. He'd been so pliant in his arms. And once he'd gotten in his bedroom, when Illya had held out his hand, Napoleon knew he'd have been welcome to lie down next to his partner, and have his wicked way with him. Napoleon had assumed at the time that the invitation was prompted by liquor and a medication reaction, not by sexual orientation.

He might have taken Illya up on that drunken invitation, if it hadn't been for Melody. Napoleon blew out a disgruntled breath. Where did Melody fit into all of this? He would swear it had been her on the communicator although she had done a good job disguising her voice. But why would she have called? And why would Illya have gone?

Napoleon frowned. And why did Illya have lunch with her? And why did she look so happy when they got back from lunch? She was a bothersome detail. And Napoleon didn't like bothersome details. He wondered how he could convince the Section Three Chief to send her somewhere far, far away. Preferably for a long, long time. And the sooner the better. Napoleon didn't like to share. 

Napoleon decided it was safe to get up now. As long as he didn't think about what Illya had looked like, he should be safe. He left a second tip on the table, sure that Illya had left an inadequate one, and left the restaurant.

Once in his car he toyed with the idea of going over to Illya's. He just wished he knew what Illya's game was. He wished he knew what Illya was thinking, what he wanted. Annoyed at his own confusion, not liking the feeling that all the familiar rules to a game he was normally an expert at, seemed to have been thrown out, Napoleon headed for his empty apartment.

* * *

The next day, Illya's jacket was already hanging on the coat rack when Napoleon got to the office, but he wasn't at his desk, so Napoleon went looking for him. He checked the commissary, the file room, and then went to the lab. 

Napoleon wasn't quite sure what to expect when he did find his partner. He wasn't sure what he'd be like, or what he might say. All Napoleon knew was that he wanted to see Illya tonight and finish what they possibly had started last night. And if they hadn't started something, he wanted to start it. 

He could hear voices as he approached Illya's lab and he frowned. One of the voices was Illya's, and the other voice belonged to a woman. Napoleon scowled when he identified it. Melody. She was laughing. No, they both were laughing.

Napoleon wasn't sure how he felt about that. Ordinarily hearing his partner's rare laugh always brought a smile to his face. But he was usually the one who made him laugh. Or at the very least, he was with him. 

But now, Illya was laughing with someone else, about something Napoleon knew nothing about, so when he walked in the room, he'd be excluded. He hated this. Napoleon didn't like feeling threatened, and when it came to affairs of the heart, he didn't like playing second fiddle. It rankled.

He shoved open the door to Illya's lab. The scene looked entirely too cozy for his tastes. Illya was sitting on his lab stool, wearing his lab coat. She was sitting on the counter, her legs close enough to brush his coat. Too close. Too damn close. It made Napoleon crazy. And then it made him even crazier that it made him feel that way. He couldn't understand why he was letting this bother him so much.

But it did. The only thing that kept him from going over and pushing her off the counter was the fact that Illya stood when he entered, and looked pleased to see him. "Napoleon."

"Illya." He gave Melody the most cursory of looks, and his voice was barely polite. "Melody."

She grinned at him. "Napoleon. So nice to see you."

Napoleon saw Illya give her a quick shake of his head. Napoleon hoped that look meant: don't push him or he's liable to shoot you. Apparently it was, because Melody hopped off the counter and with another quick kiss to Illya's cheek, and a smart salute in Napoleon's direction, she wasted no time in leaving the lab.

Napoleon waited until the door shut behind her. "I see South America in that woman's immediate future."

Illya's eyes widened and then narrowed. "Napoleon, you wouldn't."

No, Napoleon wouldn't, but he dearly wanted to. "I don't trust her."

"Well, I do."

"Why?" Napoleon began to pace. "Why do you trust her? You barely know her." When Illya didn't answer, Napoleon kept pushing. "You've been here a year and I've been here longer than that. Where's she been all that time? Why is it suddenly now that every time I turn around I'm tripping over her?"

"Was there something that you wanted, Napoleon?"

The frosty tones sunk in. Napoleon glanced up to see Illya giving him an annoyed look, his arms crossed over his chest. "What do you mean?"

Illya rolled his eyes. "You came down here presumably to say something to me, yes? Or do you just find this room the perfect dimension for pacing?"

Napoleon shot Illya an equally wintry look. But, it was true; he had come down here for something. "Do you want to have dinner tonight?"

Napoleon was relieved to see that the question thawed his partner a little. The arms uncrossed, at any rate. But then Illya shook his head. "I can't, I'm sorry."

Napoleon furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, you can't?" That wasn't the right answer at all.

"I would think the words would be self explanatory."

Napoleon waved off Illya's sarcasm. He had more important things to worry about. "What are you doing? Why aren't you free?"

Illya turned back to the counter, and pushed three beakers with different colored liquids in them into a perfectly straight line. He flashed Napoleon a quick glance. "Melody and I are going out."

Napoleon clenched his jaw. His voice was tight. "You and Melody?"

Illya nodded. He rearranged the beakers until the liquid levels were arranged by height.

Napoleon began pacing again, as restless as a cat on the prowl. "You and Melody?" he asked again. 

"Yes."

"And who exactly arranged this date?"

The arms were crossed again over his chest. "Not that it's any of your business, but I did. I asked her to go out with me."

Napoleon didn't even know why he'd asked, but he had been so sure, or maybe he'd just been desperately hoping that Melody had done the asking. The joy from last night felt spoiled now. He'd waited a year, invested more in Illya than he'd ever invested in anyone, and then had felt that something special had happened, that it had all paid off when Illya had invited him to dinner. 

But now, even though he'd known her less than two days, Illya was giving as much away to her, as Illya had given to him. Something unexpected and savage shot through Napoleon. He felt betrayed. He felt like a fool. He felt belittled. And for the first time since they'd met, he did not want to be with his partner. "Well, have fun." He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Illya must have seen something in his eyes, because he chased after him and grabbed his arm, keeping him in the lab. "Napoleon."

Napoleon looked at Illya, wondering if his eyes looked as cold as he felt inside. "What?" 

There was an awkward pause and then Illya said, "How about tomorrow night? We could do something then. Are you free?"

Napoleon took a step back until Illya's hand fell away. "No, I'm not." Without another word, he opened the door and left the lab.

* * *

Illya watched him go, knowing something had just gone seriously wrong, but having no idea how to fix it. He looked around the lab, and found that he'd lost any enthusiasm for his projects here. What he wanted was to be with Napoleon, and for Napoleon to be making him feel welcome, the way he always did, with his warm brown eyes, and easy smile. 

Suddenly he knew that he shouldn't have let Napoleon leave like that. Illya exited the lab and ran down the hall, looking for his partner. It took him twenty minutes of checking everywhere he could think of before he thought of calling the receptionist. She informed him that he had left the building nineteen minutes ago.

Illya called him on his communicator but Napoleon didn't answer. He called him at home but after thirty rings Illya hung up. He toyed with the idea of going over to Napoleon's apartment and just waiting for him, but decided it was a waste of time. If Napoleon wanted to avoid him, the last place he'd go was home.

He went back to his office, and slumped, disconsolate, in his chair. Illya didn't know what he'd do if he'd somehow ruined his friendship with Napoleon over this. Napoleon was the best thing in his life. He couldn't imagine trying to do this job, or even live his life, without him. 

He thought about canceling his evening with Melody, not sure that he'd be the best company. But then he decided that watching Gene Kelly dance might be one of the few things that could cheer him up, and besides, Melody might have some advice for him. He ignored the small voice that told him that if it hadn't been for Melody, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. 

Illya sighed and tried to concentrate on his paperwork. After a few minutes he threw his pen on the desk, knowing it was a lost cause. He leaned back in his chair and just decided to be miserable for a while.

* * *

Hours later, Napoleon wasn't feeling any better. Part of the problem was that he didn't know what Illya's and Melody's relationship was all about. So, determined to get to the bottom of things, and ignoring the sane part of him that complained that his actions were indefensible, Napoleon decided to tail Illya on his date.

It would be tough. Both he and Illya had a sixth sense about tails, but he'd just lay low and stay back, and slip past Illya's radar.

  
Decision made, Napoleon hovered around Headquarters, waiting for Illya to leave. He wasn't sure if they'd be leaving directly from work, or if Illya would be going home first to shower and shave, and splash on aftershave, and put on something that would make his blue eyes even bluer, and--Napoleon abandoned that train of thought. 

He refocused on the building, eyes scanning windows and doors, his brain automatically going through the surveillance routine. Melody came out first. Napoleon wondered if he should just follow her. But before he could make up his mind, Illya came out the door and caught up with her.

Napoleon frowned. Illya looked tired. His frown grew deeper when Melody linked her arm through Illya's. They hailed a taxi and got in. Napoleon waited until they drove off before he started his car and followed.

Napoleon could tell Illya suspected someone was tailing him. During dinner, about every fifteen minutes, Illya did a covert but thorough job scanning the restaurant. He did it while they waited in line for their tickets as well. 

Napoleon stayed out of sight until they had gone inside before he bought his ticket. He sneaked into the theater, and sat in the back. It had been a fairly unremarkable evening so far, as dates go. Dinner, and now a movie. Granted, the choice of movies was unexpected. A musical. Two musicals. Napoleon wondered what Melody had offered in exchange for this torture. He scowled in the dark.

For a moment, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He could be with Nancy right now. If he'd played his cards right they might already be in bed. Napoleon was disgruntled to realize that the idea held little appeal. 

He glanced toward the left where Illya and Melody were sitting. She was whispering in his ear. Napoleon's eyebrows went up when Illya threw some popcorn at her.

She laughed and threw some back. The people behind them hissed at them to be quiet, and both Melody and Illya exchanged guilty looks and settled back in their seats. Then Illya whispered something in her ear and their shoulders started to shake, and Napoleon knew they were both silently laughing.

Napoleon wondered if they were holding hands. He wondered again what the hell he was doing. He sighed as the first movie came on. Silk Stockings. For the love of God. Really, what the hell was he doing here? Then he glanced at Illya and Melody again, and resigned himself to watching the movie.

He surprised himself by actually liking it. Of course, it was hard not to think of Illya through the whole thing. A serious and aloof communist comes to Paris to check up on three of her comrades and ends up running afoul of decadence and love. And silk. Napoleon wondered if Illya wore silk boxers. He shook his head as he acknowledged that he was completely losing it. 

He saw Illya and Melody getting up during the intermission, and he bent over to tie his shoe until they were past. They were back shortly with fresh drinks and ammunition. He watched as they sat in different seats, presumably so they could throw popcorn without fear of recrimination.

While waiting for the second movie, Melody and Illya started talking. Napoleon couldn't see Illya's face, but he could see Melody's. She looked serious. And then she put up a hand and touched Illya's face, cupping his cheek, and she gave him a quick kiss on the lips. She said something that looked like the words 'I promise'.

Napoleon clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt and looked away. He should just get up and leave. Just get up, and let the two of them finish their date. Get up and let Illya lead the life he wanted even if it didn't include him. Napoleon stayed where he was. A truck crane couldn't have gotten him out of his seat.

Time for Brigadoon. He might have enjoyed it more but about half way through Melody put her head on Illya's shoulder, and he put his arm around her. Finally, as he watched Gene Kelly drink himself into a stupor over losing the love of his life, Napoleon couldn't stand it anymore. He got up and left the theater.

* * *

Illya enjoyed the movies, and Melody's company, but a part of him was still miserable. He couldn't stop thinking about Napoleon. And someone was following them. Or at least he was pretty sure someone was. He hadn't actually seen them, but the hairs on the back of his neck told him something was amiss. 

He wished it were Napoleon. He wished he'd turn around and just see Napoleon standing there, waiting for him, wanting to talk, ready to forgive him for whatever he'd done. 

Melody swore it would be all right. She swore that things were going along just as they ought, but Illya wasn't sure he believed her. How could making Napoleon mad enough that he didn't even want to be with him be a step in the right direction? 

But Melody had started getting upset, feeling guilty, apologizing, and Illya hadn't wanted that either. A part of him was thinking that having friends was hard work. A new lighter part of him couldn't get over the fact that he was at the movies, the kind of movies he liked, with a friend. He settled for throwing popcorn at her. It made him feel better even if they did get yelled at. He wondered what the people behind them would do if he pulled out his gun and threatened to shoot them. He guessed they'd stop complaining about the popcorn.

He whispered that in her ear, and the two of them started laughing, although they tried very hard to do it silently. Then the movie started and Illya got swept away.

During the intermission, they bought more drinks and popcorn. When they got back to their seats, Melody promised him it would all work out, and then she kissed him. It almost made him sad that she was a lesbian. Almost. It might have been nice for that kiss to turn into another kiss. Except that she was a lesbian, and he was in love with someone else.

Halfway through Brigadoon, she put her head on his shoulder. Illya put his arm around her and enjoyed the closeness. Brigadoon was a good movie for it. Illya imagined he and Napoleon, at home, on the couch, Napoleon's arm around him, his head on Napoleon's shoulder. He couldn't imagine anything better, except for what might come after that. Illya stifled a sigh and empathized with Gene Kelly as he drank himself into a stupor for losing the love of his life.

* * *

When the movies were over Illya decided he wanted to go home and be miserable alone with some vodka. He saw Melody to her apartment, listened to her insistent protestations that The Plan was working, and then took a taxi home.

As he was unlocking his apartment door he heard something within. Drawing his gun, he cautiously entered. Napoleon was standing by the window, a glass of brandy in his hand.

Illya put his gun away, not sure whether Napoleon being there was a good thing or a bad thing. He decided to ignore it for the time being and help himself to some vodka. 

Once he had a glass of liquid fortification, Illya moved over to the window. "Napoleon."

Napoleon acknowledged him with a brief nod and took a sip of his brandy.

Illya wondered how many of those he had already drunk. "Where were you all day? I looked for you."

Napoleon just shrugged.

It was odd having their roles reversed. He was usually the taciturn one. "No, really, where have you been?"

Napoleon let out a short bitter laugh. "Following you." 

Illya's hand went to the back of his neck.

Napoleon's eyes followed the hand movement. "The hairs on the back of your neck didn't lead you astray. That was me you were feeling."

Illya was--he didn't know what he was. Confused, he supposed. "Why? Why were you following me?"

That got another shrug. And another sip. "I wanted to know--" Napoleon let out another laugh. "Never mind. I don't know what's wrong with me." He turned and put his glass down on the end table. "I better go."

Illya wrapped his fingers around Napoleon's arm. "Napoleon. Why were you following me? What did you want to know?"

Napoleon turned back to the window, and he rested his hand on one of the panes. 

Illya let his hand fall, and silently watched his partner. Inside he was a cauldron of seething emotions. He was afraid to hope, but found it impossible not to hope anyway. 

Napoleon's fingers spread wide on the glass. "I watched you with her tonight and I learned something about myself."

"What did you learn?"

Napoleon glanced quickly at Illya, then resumed his vigil over the city. "I learned over this last year that you--that I've come to depend on you somehow being, well, being mine. And I learned that I don't want to share."

Illya's heart leapt in his chest. He tried to stay cautious, and not just assume Napoleon was saying what he wished to hear. "What are you saying?"

Napoleon turned to Illya, frustration clear in the stance of his body and the expression on his face. "I'm saying that I don't understand what she's got that would make you choose her over me. I'm saying that I don't know how to stand back and watch you give a part of yourself to someone you barely know when you should be giving it to me."

A surge of joy that was beyond Illya's ability to batten down raced through his body. He touched Napoleon's arm again. "Napoleon."

Napoleon was not ready to listen. "She barely knows you. I don't care how she acts or what she says, there is no way she could--" Napoleon's eyes widened as if he'd just realized that he was saying this all out loud.

Illya had to hear the rest of that sentence. His happiness depended on it. "No way she could what?"

Napoleon reached for his glass, took a healthy swallow, and turned back to the window. His voice was soft. "No way she could love you the way I love you."

All of Illya's fantasies crashed and burned under the heat of this onslaught of reality. Napoleon loved him. Napoleon loved him. His life could end right now and he wouldn't care. As long as he could take Napoleon with him. 

Despite the delight shivering through his system, Napoleon's distress managed to seep through. Illya realized it was past time to reassure his partner. His grip on his partner's arm tightened.

Napoleon's response was to put his drink down, grab Illya by the shoulders, and gently but firmly press him against the wall next to the window. "I mean it, Illya. I'm not giving you up. But I don't know what to do. You need to tell me what to do, what it will take, what you want."

Illya let out a strangled laugh. "What I want?" He had everything he wanted. This man in front of him had just handed it to him. Love for his partner made his heart feel much too big for his chest. "You have already given me so much, Napoleon. I think the better question is what do you want?"

There was no hesitation this time. "I want you."

Illya closed his eyes, Napoleon's words taking his breath away. They licked along his skin, making him feel more alive than ever before. He opened his eyes and just looked at his partner, having lost the ability to think, let alone speak.

Whatever was in his eyes must have communicated loud and clear because Napoleon began to smile. "You want me, too?" He took Illya's glass away and sat it down next to his.

Illya nodded. "Da."

"Just me?"

"Da."

"Not her?"

"Ty, Napoleon. Ty fsegda." You, Napoleon, you always.

The smile was dazzling now. "Speak English, Illya." 

"Da." All Illya could think about was Napoleon kissing him. 

Napoleon must have been having the same thoughts because the next thing he did was pull Illya close and lower his head to stake his claim.

For the first time in Illya's life, and without a whimper, he completely and totally surrendered. He hung on to Napoleon as his partner plundered him, and he had never felt anything as wonderful in his life. Illya had seen Napoleon in action more times than he cared to remember, but now that he was experiencing it first hand, he felt as if he were in the middle of a storm front.

Napoleon's hands were everywhere, touching, cajoling, exploring, pleasuring. Illya decided, as his clothes started coming off, that he was very grateful for Napoleon's years of diligent practice in the art of lovemaking.

And as Napoleon led him to the bedroom and bore him down onto the bed, Illya decided that the only practicing Napoleon was going to do for the rest of his life better be on him.

* * *

A long time later, both men lay on their backs, panting, sharing a view of the ceiling. 

Napoleon decided Illya was entirely too far away and he reached out and tucked him snugly against his side. Illya seemed to find the arrangement to his satisfaction as he settled his head comfortably on Napoleon's shoulder and let out a happy sigh.

Napoleon traced circles on Illya's back and let out a happy sigh himself. Then he thought about Melody and his body tightened.

Illya supported himself up on an elbow and looked down at him. "What is it?"

Napoleon ran a hand down Illya's face. "I don't want to share you."

Illya leaned over and kissed Napoleon's lips. "I don't want to share you either."

The two men stared at each other for a minute and Napoleon finally relaxed. "Good." He encouraged Illya to lie back down, and started tracing circles again. "What are you going to tell her?"

"Melody?"

"Yes."

Illya began to giggle. "That she won." He giggled harder and lay back on the bed.

This time it was Napoleon's turn to roll up on his side. He looked down at his giggling partner and compared him to the other night. Illya was happy, just as he'd been two nights ago, but this was infinitely better. Because he was the reason for the sparkle in those gorgeous blue eyes. And Illya was naked, and looked sated from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Napoleon had made sure of that. This was a sight Napoleon knew he'd never tire of. But then, the words Illya had spoken sank in. "What do you mean she won? What did she win?" If it involved touching Illya in any way, she was out of luck.

Illya answered through his giggles. "The bet, she won the bet."

"What bet?"

"She bet me that she could get you to go to bed with me and tell me you loved me in less than two weeks."

Napoleon began to get a sick feeling in his gut. "This was all because of a bet? You did this for a bet?"

The giggles stopped, and Napoleon could see that Illya had heard the tension in his voice. He hugged Napoleon tightly. "Nyet, nyet. Do not leap to the wrong conclusions. I wanted it so badly. I wanted you."

The knot in Napoleon's stomach began to untie. "Go on."

"That night I was drunk?" Illya waited for Napoleon's nod. "We talked about a lot of things, about you, and--and sex, and she figured it out."

Napoleon watched Illya start to redden. He smiled. "What did she figure out?"

The blush grew darker, and Illya looked away for a moment. Then he found one of Napoleon's hands and laced his fingers with those of his partner. "That I was in love with you."

Napoleon lifted stunned eyes to his partner, amazed at how those words, coming from this man, made him feel. Illya was in love with him. He saw a lifetime ahead of him of loving Illya and being loved by him. It made his life feel inestimably worthwhile.

Illya finished the story. "She thought you were in love with me, too, but just hadn't figured it out yet. So, she bet me that she could--" Illya gestured at the two of them, naked, in bed, "--make this happen."

"So you and she weren't--?"

Illya laughed. "She is a lesbian, Napoleon."

Napoleon opened his eyes wide, chagrined that he hadn't known. Then he gave Illya a lopsided smile. "Well, that explains why she kept saying no to me."

Illya snorted and made himself comfortable against Napoleon's body again.

Napoleon held him tightly, the relief of knowing that Melody wasn't any kind of threat making him momentarily lightheaded. Then he frowned. "I'm not sure I like how easily she played me."

Illya rose up on his elbow again. "She will be insufferable about it, I promise you that. She won the bet in two days, instead of two weeks."

Napoleon ran his fingers through the silken blond mop. "I suppose I can be gracious and let her crow about this a little. I just hate having to be grateful to the little witch."

Illya shoved Napoleon. "She is not a witch. She is very nice. And you will like her now that you do not perceive her as competition." He gave Napoleon a serious look. "She has become a friend."

Napoleon understood what Illya was saying. "Then she will be my friend, too. I promise." And Napoleon meant it. She had, after all, given him his heart's desire. Even if she was a little witch. 

Illya gave him a brilliant smile, and Napoleon's heart skipped a beat. "So, tell me, were the musicals your idea or hers?"

Illya gave him a nervous smile. "My idea."

Napoleon's eyes widened. "Your idea? You like that stuff?"

Illya frowned. "Yes, I like that stuff. What's wrong with it?" He went on the attack. "It's better than your war movies."

"Hey, what's wrong with my war movies?"

Illya sighed and shook his head, choosing instead to cuddle closer to Napoleon.

Napoleon was not willing to leave it alone. He inched away and poked Illya in the side. "You've gone with me to those war movies, you know, and I never heard you complain about it."

Illya blew out an exasperated breath. "Napoleon, my entire life has been about war. Since I was three years old it's all I've known, either as a child living through it, or as a soldier, or as an agent. Why would I want to spend what little free time I have going to movies about it?"

Napoleon felt a sudden lump in his throat and he coughed to clear it. "Why didn't you tell me that before? Why did you come with me?"

Illya rolled his eyes. "Because I wanted to be with you, you idiot."

Napoleon reached out for him and pulled him close, hugging him tightly. He worked past an absurd need to protect his partner from everything unpleasant the world had to offer. Finally, wanting to find lighter ground, Napoleon pulled away enough to grin at Illya. "So, you must really love me, hmm?"

Illya glared at him. "Are you going to be insufferable as well, Napoleon? If I remember correctly, you told me you loved me first."

Napoleon frowned, but his heart wasn't in it and it turned quickly into a grin. "A mere technicality." His hands began to caress Illya's back, reaching down to teasingly touch his ass. "Tell me again."

Illya stole a kiss first, and then a second one. "Ya lyublyu tebya."

Napoleon hummed in satisfaction. "Was that 'I love you' in Russian?"

Illya nodded, kissing Napoleon's neck. "Je t'aime."

"Ah, the language of love. Tell me more."

"As Tave Myliu."

Napoleon arched his neck to give Illya better access. "What's that?"

"Lithuanian."

Napoleon let out a soft laugh that turned into a gasp as Illya nibbled his earlobe. "More."

"Seni seviyorum." 

"What--?" Napoleon was reduced to single word questions as Illya found a seldom-explored erogenous zone behind his ear.

"Turkish." Illya kissed both of Napoleon's eyelids. "Aishiteru."

"Japanese?"

"Yes. Ich liebe dich."

"German." Napoleon let out a groan as Illya went back to nuzzling his neck. "Is there any language you don't know how to say I love you in?" 

"Possibly. Guess this one. Nakupenda."

"No idea."

"Swahili."

Napoleon snorted out a laugh, and began to nuzzle Illya's neck. "More."

"Techihhila." 

"I give up."

"Lakota Sioux."

Napoleon rolled up on his side and stared down at Illya. "How do you know that? How can you possibly know how to say I love you in Sioux Indian?"

Illya shrugged, then he grinned up at his partner. "Ti amo."

Napoleon basked in the deluge of endearments. He'd had many people tell him they loved him over the years, but they had never made him feel like this. For the first time in his life, Napoleon completely gave his heart away with no expectation of ever getting it back.

* * *

Epilogue 1:

She kept nudging him, and he kept slapping her hand away. She hissed his name, and he glared at her. She pinched him. "Get up there, Kuryakin."

He shook his head emphatically.

"If you don't, I'm going to tell everyone in this room that you lost a bet and now you're welching."

His eyes pleading, he said, "I can't."

She sat back, grinning, sensing victory, and she pointed up toward Napoleon. "Get going."

Illya could feel Napoleon's eyes on him a second before the CEA spoke. "Kuryakin, Kingston, is this briefing disturbing your conversation?"

Illya could tell Napoleon wasn't angry. He was reasonably certain, and quite proud of the fact, that it would take an act of God to perturb his partner today. Illya shook his head at Napoleon, trying to tell him with his eyes to forget this and move on.

Napoleon just switched his gaze to Melody as if certain of the fact that she would be only too glad to tattle on Illya. Now that the two of them had called a truce, Illya knew that Napoleon would be using Melody to the best of his ability to ferret information out about him. He would have to be doubly on his guard. For some reason he found he didn't mind the idea.

Melody gave him one more chance but Illya crossed his arms over his chest, and gave her a stubborn look. She grinned and glanced up at Napoleon. "As you know, Mr. Solo, Illya recently lost a bet to me, and now it's time for him to pay up, and he doesn't want to."

There were several cheerfully rendered boos from the crowd of agents, and a few dramatic gasps.

Napoleon shook his head sadly and tsked. "Now, Illya. You wouldn't want to besmirch your honor, would you?"

Illya gave him a desperate look. "Napoleon."

But Illya could see that Napoleon wasn't letting go. He had questioned Illya about the terms of the bet, but Illya had evaded his queries. Illya should have known it would come back to haunt him.

Melody poked him. "Go on. You'd have made me do it if I lost."

Illya knew the only way he was getting out of this would be to leave, and he'd never live that down. He let out a long beleaguered sigh and then stood. He glanced up at Napoleon's curious and expectant gaze, and wondered what he'd think about what Illya was going to do.

Too late now. He could always blame Napoleon for egging Melody on. He began to walk up the aisle, up to the front where Napoleon stood. Illya watched as Napoleon's eyes grew nervous. Illya bit back a grin. Serves him right.

When he stood a foot away from his partner, Illya said, "Are you sure about this?"

Napoleon frowned at him. "Sure about what?"

Illya showed him. He grabbed Napoleon's tie and yanked him over to him. He captured the back of Napoleon's head with a hand and pulled him down until their lips were touching. 

Illya decided that as long as he was humiliating himself he might as well leave no doubt in any one's mind. He swept his tongue into Napoleon's mouth and staked his claim in front of all his fellow agents. To his everlasting relief, Napoleon kissed him back, and even wrapped his arms around him.

It was the loudly voiced comment, "It's about damn time," intermixed with cheering and clapping that brought him back to where he was and what he was doing. Illya was gratified to see that Napoleon looked a bit dazed. He whispered, "This. Are you sure about this?" 

It took a few seconds but Napoleon's eyes cleared and he grinned at Illya. After stealing another quick kiss he nodded his head. "Very, very sure." Holding Illya around the shoulder he turned to face all the Section Two and Three agents. "Well, boys and girls, it appears that I am off the market."

As the agents had fun intermingling cheers with catcalls, enjoying themselves tremendously at Illya's and Napoleon's expense, Illya knew his face looked smug but he couldn't help it. Napoleon was his. Somehow he'd ended up with the best one of them all. Well, not somehow. It had taken the help of a friend. A good friend. He caught Melody's eye and gave her one of his rare and brilliant smiles, oblivious to the impact it had on several of the men and women in the room.

Melody smiled back, thoroughly enjoying the fact that she was one of only two people that he would smile at like that. She didn't even mind sharing it with the crowd. After all, it would just let them all know what they were missing. The yummy caramel center in the hard chocolate nougat covering. Although, she surmised, after today, Illya would find that there would be a few less people buying his 'No Trespassing' demeanor. If it had been fun watching Illya and Napoleon before, it was nothing compared to what it would be like now. 

* * *

Epilogue 2:

Illya watched as she wove her way back to their table at Smoky Joe's. He waited until she sat and said, "Is that your friend Kelly?"

She nodded, and then narrowed her eyes. "Don't even think about it, Kuryakin. You lost the bet."

He grinned at her.

She leaned in. "I'm serious. Don't get any ideas."

"Slishkam pozniy."

"What's that mean?"

"It's your Russian phrase for the day."

"Yeah, well, what does it mean?"

"Too late." Illya crooked his finger at her, inviting her to lean in further. "Are you drunk?"

She frowned, suspicious. "I'm a little tipsy, why?"

"Then I'd like to make a bet with you."

Her eyes narrowed into little slits, taking in his grin, the mischievous glint in his eye. "What kind of bet?"

"I'll bet I can get her into bed faster than you can."

He started to laugh as she spit her wine all over the table.

The End


End file.
